


DreamSMP Requests

by SethLost



Series: Request Books [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Technoblade Whump (Video Blogging RPF), listen guys he's trying, philza's b- parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29779503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SethLost/pseuds/SethLost
Summary: Hey! Here! Have a one-shot requests book! Gods know we don't have enough!All written prompts will be listen on the chapter zero. Pick and choose the ones you want to read!I will do: Angst (physical over emotional, but I can do both), fluff, hurt/comfort, sickfics and meetups for content creators themselves, and all of those plus torture, kidnapping, more intense gore and illnesses for characters (NOT the cc's IRL) as well as LGBT rep for the characters (trans Fundy, all pronouns for Eret, or even trans Wilbur or all pronouns for Tubbo).I WON'T do: NSFW, smut, not canon or IRL romantic ships, or talk about rxpe or sxicide, even without detail.More detail in the first chapter. Thank you!
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Karl Jacobs & Sapnap & TommyInnit, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: Request Books [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188725
Comments: 25
Kudos: 19





	1. Overview!

HERE WE GO

First off, lemme base this with saying you can leave as many prompts as you want. I'm bored. Very bored. I need something to do while procrastinating my classes.

Secondly, I do not know all of the stuff in the SMP! I may get things wrong lore-wise. I apologize for my ignorance if I do.

And third, I don't have a beta reader. I will make typos. I am so sorry. 

I deal with angst above all else, and hurt/comfort is my favorite. I won't write romantic ships, but most of the relationships can be perceived that way if you squint hard enough. 

Heavy injury is my jam. Angst during recovery is just under that, and sickfics are very fun to write when poison exists. 

HOWEVER. IF ANY CONTENT CREATOR STATES THEY ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT IN A ONE-SHOT THEY ARE A PART OF.

THAT ONE SHOT-WILL BE TAKEN DOWN.

NO EXCUSES.

I'll write for the SMP, Tales from the SMP, and for their content creators. Crossovers are possible, as long as I know the fandom :)

And leave your prompts in the comments! I'll do my best to reply as soon as they come in!

Your prompt should be uploaded in about a week, give or take for complexity, if it's on the list. Thank y'all! See you soon!

TABLE OF CONTENTS:  
Chapter 2: Techno & Philza whump/angst/hurt/comfort; request made by chaotic_idiot11


	2. father fortune, brother war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request by chaotic_idiot11
> 
> "can i request some techno whump?  
> maybe he gets severly injured protecting philza from someone, and now philza has to save him while dealing with the fact that techno might die because of him :D"
> 
> TW: Extreme violence, mild gore, mentions of vomiting

Phil was utterly aware this was a stupid idea.

He shouldn't have listened to Techno's suggestion. This entire dimension was far too dangerous to explore unprepared, but in the end, the promise of loot convinced him to follow the piglin hybrid into the ruins.

Now, they were stuck in a bastion in the nether, cornered by at _least_ a dozen piglins, and regardless of the golden helmet on both his and Technoblade's heads, those crossbows were pointing awfully close to his throat.

Well, fuck.

"Listen." Phil tried again, forcing his voice into a soothing tone. "You may not understand me, but we mean you no harm. We're leaving. Just passing through."

The piglin in front of him pressed the bolt a little closer into his throat. It grunted, tilting its head to the side.

Techno's ears lifted slightly.

Phil felt a bead of sweat fall down his forehead, and his feathers rustled nervously. He glanced behind him at the chest, and swallowed. "We have no need to harm you, but we will."

Techno jerked slightly, turning, eyes widening quickly before returning impassive. Phil clamped his mouth shut, raising his chin further above the arrow's tip.

The piglin pulled the bolt back a small bit more, grunting again. Another, wearing a thick gold tunic, nodded slightly.

Techno rolled his eyes. "Let us go. We took nothing, and we have nothing to give."

A third ripped the lid off the chest. Phil winced, pulling his wings closer to his back. He waited for it to count up the gold, to find that one lone golden apple missing.

He waited for the grunt, confirming his fears.

He felt a hand tear open the pocket on his robe, ripping the golden apple and holding it in front of his face, tusks flaring.

Technoblade glanced at him, and Phil could feel the heat from his stare. The unspoken _you did take something_ lingered like an accusation through the air, and Phil pulled into himself a small bit more, his feathers twitching in anticipation.

The piglin grunted, shaking the fruit.

Phil bit his lip, closing his eyes lightly. “It’s all I took.”

Something ever so slightly pricked the skin of his throat, gently touching his Adam’s apple. He refused to flinch. 

He breathed as the weapon clicked, pressed to his throat and twinging with tension.

He waited.

A thick thud startled him out of his daze, and his eyes snapped open. He dodged out of the way of Techno, who ripped the weapon out of the piglin's hands, throwing it to the ground and stomping on it.

It shattered, and all hell broke loose.

Phil drew his sword, spinning to meet a gold axe an inch away from his face. He pulled back the blade, and took the offender by the collar, slamming the point through its stomach. 

Something pulled on his robes, and he threw an elbow back, catching something and feeling it snap under his blow. He turned and took the piglin's head off.

Techno roared, laughing as the gold plated piglin raced toward him. Phil watched him swiftly wrap an arm around its jaw, and looked away to fell another before he could see its neck snap.

It was a dance the two men were used to; when more of the foul creatures started to flood them, they easily moved back to back--keeping each monster no less than five feet away. The clang of metal on metal and the smell of thick boiling blood filled the massive bastion, and even Phil felt himself grin in anticipation with each kill.

He lunged forward, countering a shovel and snapping an arrow shaft, turning and fencing diligently with a polished pig. He stepped lightly, shoes tapping quickly, backing it up into a wall and slitting its throat.

"Phil!" Techno yelled, playing whack-a-mole with a particularly small few. "Pigmen are getting close. We might want to head off!"

"There's, like, four left, we can take 'em!" Phil laughed, twirling to take the head off of a sneaky one.

He could feel Techno roll his eyes from across the broken floor. "Well, fine, I guess-"

There was a crash, and Phil turned.

All he saw was a slightly swaying piglin hybrid, one hand raised to the back of his head, eyes glazed, and an utterly confounded full breed, holding a crossbow, snapped in half, staring at the still standing Technoblade.

He watched as Techno's eyes lit with fury, and he licked a canine, turning to slam into it.

He watched a passive zombie pigman wander between the wall and his son.

Techno grabbed the newcomer by the throat and slammed him into the blackstone. His eyes widened, and he stepped back woozily, blood dripping from the back of his skull. Immediately, Phil heard footsteps start to echo around the bastion. He locked eyes with the stunned Techno, nodding once.

Two arms wrapped around his throat.

The sound of groans muffled into a quickening heartbeat, and he grabbed the arms, trying to pull them away. He squeezed his eyes shut in concentration.

A burst of weight slammed into him, and strong arms wrapped around his chest. The pressure on his throat released, and Techno’s gruff voice yelled, “Go! Go!” into his ear. He flared his wings and pushed off. 

Something ripped a handful of his feathers, and his eyes flew open in indignance, to see his son, clutching him like a lifeline as he glided unsteadily over the lava.

A bolt ripped through his left wing, and sent him spiralling to the ground.

He screamed.

Fumbling through his pockets, he pulled out an ender pearl, throwing it as far as he could, to the forest, to the portal. He clutched his son to his chest, wrapping his wings tightly around the two of them.

He met the ground with the shattering of bones, and darkness.

-

Dead silence hit him; his ears popped at the sudden change of pressure. He unwound himself and fell flat to his back on the ground, curling to the left as his wings protested.

He laid there for a minute, just trying to breathe.

The ringing in his ears grew unbearable. 

Techno.

Where was his son?

He shot up, ignoring the protest in his shoulders, and glanced around frantically for Techno.

He spotted a lump, curled up by a tree, with vaguely pink skin.

Fuck.

He pushed himself upright, stumbling over to the vaguely human shape resting against a tree stump, painting the crimson grass a shiny darker red. He collapsed to his knees by Techno's side, rolling him onto his back.

There was a clear slash straight through his golden chestplate, his stomach torn open with the rough precision of a practiced butcher; the purpose to bleed dry before preparation.

Phil turned and gagged at the thought.

He ran his fingers through Techno's hair, feeling for the lump from the blow. It felt tender, painful, and he pulled his hand back, sick at the blood on his palm.

Phil stood unsteadily, gazing across the woodlands. A glint of vibrant purple glittered in a clearing. 

The portal. It was nearby, thank the gods.

He looped his arms below Techno's legs, lifting him gently. He moved his wings to fly, and shuddered as pain crashed through him like a wave, making him stumble and place a hand on the tree stump for balance.

Okay, they're walking.

He stood again and took a step forward. Then another, curling into his son, subconsciously trying to stop the bleeding, and another, feet placed carelessly and rolling, sending him sprawling across the grass.

But he stood again, lifting the man, and he continued.

He sat at the edge of the portal, leaning into it, and let himself get sucked into the Overworld.

The portal was the only way to get back, but Phil immediately regretted going through.

It ripped and pulled and tore through his wings, jostling the already mangled bones beyond belief, but he forced himself through, lacing his fingers with Techno's.

He fell through the other side to darkness, and coarse gravel.

Instinct caught him and he pushed himself up with a flap of his wings, before biting back a shriek of agony and wrapping himself in the smooth grey feathers. He let out a shuddering breath, before gently, ever so lightly folding the limbs behind him, and lifting his son up.

Techno was pale. The normally rough pink skin was a faded ivory, his hair fell limply over his eyes, rolled back in their sockets, and a fever burned below the skin, seeping through Phil's thick cloak.

Panic rushed through his bloodstream. He fumbled around, pulling up the collar of his son’s sleeve and pressing two unsteady fingers, feeling frantically for a pulse.

He choked down a relieved breath when he found it.

Once again, he lifted the boy into his arms, and limped to the little cabin next to the forest.

The snow that decorated the paths fell faster the further he went, and soon he was bundled into his wings, curling around Technoblade, breathing hesitant and stuttering. He couldn't see much further than a foot in front of him--his eyelashes were covered in ice, and his feathers were stiff and frozen and aching, but he persevered.

The irritated neigh of a familiar horse drew his attention.

"Carl?" He coughed, stopping in his tracks.

Another whinney flew through the clearing. 

"Carl, where are you?" He yelled again, making his way towards the noise.

In an elaborate game of hot and cold, Phil finally felt the splintering wood of an old cabin catch onto a nerve in his wing, and he spun, whispering a thank you to whatever gods out there were watching, and threw himself into the little shed.

His memory blurred; he remembered laying Techno on the couch, remembered throwing logs half heartedly into the fireplace, slamming the door, fetching a washcloth and a stool and sitting next to his son.

After that, everything went black.

-

He woke up the next morning unable to move.

He wasn't bound, no, but his wings felt like concrete filled their veins, and he lurched forward, pulling his knees to his chest, struggling to breathe.

And a groan knocked him out of it.

Techno was trying to sit up.

"No! No, no, Techno, you gotta sit back. Hey," Phil gasped, pushing a hand down on his chest. His wings went limp, forgotten, as he lifted the cloth still clutched in his hand to brush the dried blood from Techno's face.

Techno blinked wearily, glancing around. His eyes, bloodshot, locked to Phil's, dazed and confused.

"...Phil."

"Mhm. Lay down."

"Phil, why am I…" Techno pushed himself up lightly to his elbows, or at least attempted to. The wound ripping through his stomach crinkled, and Phil reached forward, catching his shoulders just in time to lower him gently back down to the pillow.

“Stay.” Phil shook his head, trying to clear his head. Techno watched him, one hand resting lightly on the ruined chestplate.

He was clueless.

Phil was a father. He took care of his children. He may have not done the best job at being there for them, but when a problem arose, Phil solved it. He was used to little scrapes, little cuts, but shit like this?

He took a breath.

Clean it first.

Technoblade eyed him, his eyes half closed. His words slurred. “Phil…” he muttered, “what happened?”

“It was just an encounter we weren’t ready for.” He rummaged through his pockets, wincing as the fabric grazed his limp wings. They were starting to go numb. That wasn’t good.

“Your wings…” the man breathed, already almost asleep.

“Not a problem.”

Techno looked at him accusingly, about to protest, before his vision cleared suddenly and he gasped, sitting up, wrapping an arm around his torso, staring at his bloodstained hands. He froze, eyes locked onto the stained crimson on his skin.

“Techno, please,” Phil pleaded, “lay down, I can help.”

“Phil, it-” he choked out, “-hurts, why does it--I don’t remember, why-”

Phil once again pushed against his shoulder, forcing him to look at him. “Techno. I need to clean it. You have to lay down-”

The fragile golden chestplate snapped and dug its way into the wound.

Techno never flinched, never showed pain, he was untouchable, unkillable, and the only time he rose his voice above a sardonic drawl was as a threat, in a challenge. But here, he was raw, gasping for breath, as the edges of his stomach ripped further open, and the piercing golden weapon impaled him.

A shudder ran down his spine, and Techno’s eyes glazed over entirely, before he slumped back to the bed.

Phil stared.

And stared.

And suddenly, a thought came to him.

He frantically pulled off the remains of the chestplate, and sure enough, the edges of the wound were tight, red, shiny and pulled close together. He could feel the heat emanating from inches above.

Infection.

A ridge of pus filled skin lined the rim of the wound, blisters from the heat of the Nether, and now, feathery grey lines buried their way through the skin towards his heart.

Something fell out of his pocket and clattered to the ground, jolting him out of his concentration, and he jumped, looking down at his feet. A little bottle rolled and settled next to his shoe, an iridescent pink liquid dancing on the inside.

Healing potion.

Phil snatched it up, trying to calm his stomach. He couldn’t force it down Techno’s throat. The blaze powder was still too strong for his human side, even as a half piglin, and regardless of that, the threat of choking on it was too great. Choking on potions was like swallowing orange juice wrong. Phil couldn’t make Techno deal with more.

He opened the stopper, pouring around half of it onto the white cloth, and winced before he gently wiped it around the wound.

Thank the gods Techno was too far gone to feel it.

He spent the minutes slowly, carefully cleaning the open tear in the man's stomach, half slipping into a daze of rhythm. He cycled for hours, ending with gently sewing the wound closed, and wrapping it in a thick white cloth.

Phil collapsed into his chair, hunching over. He muttered nonsense under his breath, preening through the feathers of his wings, too numb to feel the twinge of pain each time they moved, and slowly fell to sleep.

-

The next time he woke, Phil came to slowly, more on instinct than anything sudden. A feeling of imminent grating wrong filled him, from his frozen back to his fingertips, and he opened his eyes. Exhaustion had settled in; he knew he needed to take care of his own injuries, but Techno…

Techno.

One glance to his side explained the horrid feeling in his chest. Techno looked…

He looked like he was dying.

The pink skin was far too close a shade to human paleness. It was burning, Phil hovered a hand over it and could feel it from inches away. The fever, despite his attempts, raged easily through him.

Phil shakily unwrapped the bandages.

It was… fine.

The wound was healing normally. Swelling had gone down, the rim of pus was lower, and the redness was nearly gone against his painfully white skin. Phil gently placed a finger to the sewn stitches, testing them lightly.

It was fine.

Then what was wrong?

Techno flinched. 

Phil jumped, turning back and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Techno? Tech, are you awake?”

The man’s fingers twisted against the sheets weakly, and he coughed slightly. His eyes fluttered.

Hope filled him. “C’mon, mate, you gotta wake up. You’re burning, I need to check you over.”

Techno lurched forward, reaching for a trash can, and vomited.

Dad instincts kicked in. Phil immediately fell onto the bed, pulling back his hair and gently rubbing a palm on his back, muttering, “It’s okay, you’re okay,” softly under his breath.

After about five minutes of Techno blankly staring at the trash can, he let out a shaky breath.

“Hey,” Phil murmured. “Tech, you with me?”

He responded by slumping over, leaning against Phil’s side, trembling slightly. One hand reached up and brushed the back of his head.

Phil sighed.

He had a concussion, didn’t he?

He lifted the blanket and gently wrapped it around Techno’s shoulders, rocking him back and forth every so slightly, continuously muttering soft reassurances. Soon enough, he glanced over to see his eyes flutter closed again.

Phil lifted another healing potion and got back to work.

-

He awoke to coughing. 

He opened his eyes to find Techno, curled around his stomach, sitting up and hacking his lungs out. 

"Techno! " Phil looked around wildly, seeing a bottle of water and snatching it up, holding it with ready fingers. Techno was trembling, tangling the blanket around his fingers. "Hey, hey, calm down, it's alright."

He brushed a hand through the long pink hair, pressing a palm to his cheek. "It's okay, it's okay, you're alright. I promise, you're okay."

He shook weakly, staring uncomprehendingly at his sweaty hands buried deep in the white quilt. Phil slid onto the mattress and put a gentle arm around his shoulders.

"Just breathe. Just breathe."

Techno drifted away in less than a minute, head dropping limply on Phil's shoulder. He swore quietly, laying him down and standing, steadying himself as a wave of dizziness crashed over him.

Perhaps he should take a look at his wings.

Plucking a third healing potion from the chests, he sat down and pulled his left wing forward. The joints closest to his back were twisted uncomfortably.

He twitched each one into place, stone faced the whole way through.

Same with the right wing--however, he also wet a rag with the potion to clean the tear from the bolt, wincing as it sizzled against the skin. He breathed a sigh of relief once the bones were realigned, carefully sipping the rest of the potion.

Drugs can be medicinal, after all.

He knew to wait for the magic to kick in, and knit the joints together, so to avoid it, he settled into his little chair, letting his eyes fall closed.

-

Technoblade, when he woke, was so, so confused.

His hands felt like small weights. His stomach just… wasn't there, it was numbed out of existence. Each time he tried to open his eyes, he saw nothing but a half blurry white, so he opted to keep them closed. His head ached incessantly, pouding with each beat of his heart, and nausea swirled in his stomach. He shivered when a wave of cold covered him, and involuntarily buried further into the blanket.

It took all his focus to remain solid, it seemed.

And so he laid there, waiting for his fingers to twitch at his beck and call, and when they did, he forced his eyes open.

They were clearer than before, at least.

His sheets were white, warm, a fire roared at the opposite side of the cabin, the atmospheric neighs of Carl lingered through the windows as light snow fell gently outside.

And next to him sat Phil, the green and white bucket hat in his hands and his head hanging low, fast asleep.

He opened his mouth, working his jaw slightly, before croaking out a soft, “Phil?”

The man jumped, hat falling to the floor. Phil stood and turned to him, wings stiff behind his back, and a look of anxiety crossed his face. “Techno, mate, feeling alright?”

Techno grimaced, flicking his tongue to try and rid himself of the taste of cotton and blood in his mouth. 

“If the phrase ‘just blown up by a government of creepers’ is better, then yes.”

Phil looked relieved. He sat down on the side of the bed, looking down at his lap.

Techno studied him.

His hair was greasy, and so were his feathers. His hands were stained with unwashed blood. Three bottles lay discarded on the nightstand, and a sickly sweet scent only lightly masked the smell of vomit.

Oh.

“Phil.”

Again, the man twitched. “Yes?”

“What… exactly, happened?”

And so Phil, ever the storyteller, settled in. “You don’t remember anything?”

Techno shook his head. “Nah. Only a Nether trip, and I’m assuming it didn’t go well?”

“Nope. See, I stole a golden apple from a bastion and almost got us both killed.”

He scoffed. “There’s no way it was entirely your fault.”

“Are you saying it was your fault, too?” Phil glanced at him teasingly. 

He blanched. “No! Circumstances, naturally!”

Phil laughed--a real laugh, all the tension leaking from his shoulders. “Naturally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u chaotic_idiot11, i am so sorry it took so long but i did it! hope it satisfies your whump instinct as much as writing it satisfied mine :D


End file.
